Hatred Never Seemed This Much Like Love Before
by ivoryandrose-leaves
Summary: Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger are being forced into marriage, as soon as the latter comes of age in just a few short months. Can our unlikely lovebirds come to terms with their engagement by then? Seventh year, written pre-HBP. DMHG. REWRITING
1. Chapter One: The Beginning

**A/N: I abandoned this fic a loooong time ago. For all of my former readers/reviewers: I'm sorry. I was just really uninspired. But I'm back now, and totally revamping the whole story. I reread and was actually ashamed. Thus, rewrites. I sincerely hope you still like it.**

**Before we go any further, let me get some stuffs out of the way. This was written **_**pre**_**-HBP (kind of funny, since HBP turned out being my favorite book). Hence, Dumbledore is still alive. Voldemort, however, is not. It is safe to assume that Harry vanquished that nasty little bugger for good sometime at the end of Sixth Year. Lucius is locked away in Azkaban, and the other Malfoys remained politically neutral after his imprisonment. Cool? Cool. **

**Also: ashamed of the prophecy. Just throwing that out there.**

**On with the story:**

**(Oh, and I'm not JKR. I don't own anything but the plot, blah blah blah…)**

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"I regret to inform you that you are soon to be married."

"Pardon?" the newly-appointed Head Girl squeaked out, her brown eyes wide as saucers. It was the day that the students of Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry returned to the castle after summer holidays and sixteen-year-old Muggle-born witch Hermione Granger was seated aboard the Hogwarts Express, in the compartment reserved for the Head students. Coincidentally, herself and the atrocious being seated next to her.

By her side was the one and only Draco Malfoy, looking as snooty as ever with his nostrils flared and jaw clenched. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore was seated on the plush bench opposite.

"Your ears do not deceive you, Miss Granger. You and Mr. Malfoy are now betrothed."

"Why?" Malfoy's voice was strangely cool and controlled.

"The entire wizarding world knows that you, Miss Granger, are by far the most talented witch of your year, if not your generation. And you, Mr. Malfoy, have inherited your strong powers as well as your fierce determination from your father. And also a bit of a temper, I might add." The professor winked at Hermione, who was still shell-shocked. "And as you probably know, our very own Professor Trelawney is gifted with the art of Occulation. There was recently a prophecy transferred through her…"

The wizened old wizard pulled a folded sheet of parchment from the depths of his robes. Slowly, with knobby fingers, he unfolded the transcript. Determinedly, he cleared his throat and read aloud:

"A young witch of unconventional birth – meaning muggle-born – shall prove crucial in the fight of this Final War. It will be in The Dark Lord's followers' best interest to sway this witch to join their plight; a simple feat to lure this witch into the shadows of The Dark Side, and with her help, they will surely triumph. But if she is kept away from these shadows and shown love from a wizard of pure blood, born as the son of The Dark Lord's faithful servant, she will be the savior of goodness. This wizard must have been raised in the methods of The Darkness and prove he has changed by performing a feat of pure, unselfish love. This will only be possible if he is shown love by The Light. Together, they must form an unbreakable bond, as well as matrimonial, in order to save us all."

Hermione could feel her mouth hanging open in shock, but could not find it in herself to do anything about it. She was a bit too numb to think of looking at his facial expression, but she could see that Malfoy's thin white hands were clenching his knees so tightly that it looked painful.

Professor Dumbledore took a deep breath and re-folded the parchment. "So it seems," he paused, making the final fold. "That life as we know it depends on the two of you and your… future relationship."

Malfoy shot up from his seat suddenly, startling Hermione out of her stillness. "If you think that I'm going to marry this… this… HER!" He pointed at the bewildered brunette in fury. "Then you're wrong!"

The headmaster's eyes softened as he looked calmly upon his fuming pupil. "Mr. Malfoy," he said gently, with some remorse. "The Ministry is backing your union one hundred percent."

Hermione felt her stomach twist in anguish. _He… He's gotten the Ministry involved? _That was it then. There was no way out.

The professor smiled sympathetically, as if reading her thoughts. "Don't worry. It won't be as bad as it seems. According to this—" He held up the parchment pointedly. "—you're the perfect match."

The head girl managed to find her voice, and it shook and rose with anger. "Professor, there must be some other way. I can't… I _won't_ marryMalfoy. _I refuse to!_"

Her open display of defiance seemed to surprise both of her companions. Malfoy dropped back into his seat, his grey eyes glued to the girl beside him. Dumbledore's face grew businesslike once more, his mouth setting into a grim line. He appeared to be steeling himself for an argument. His eyes told them that he had expected this from Malfoy, but never from his top female student.

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger. You _will _be married as soon as you are both of legal age. The Minister of Magic himself will be performing the ceremony, and he assures me that there will be dire consequences if you do not comply." He paused, his compassionate side seeming to take over a little. "The Ministry takes this sort of thing very seriously, I'm afraid. In times like these, it would be foolish not to."

The old wizard checked his watch. "If I'm not mistaken, you have three months, fifteen days, two hours and fifty-nine minutes until your seventeenth birthday, Miss Granger."

Hermione did some quick mental calculations, the gears in her head turning furiously. "Yes," she said quietly, nodding her unruly head. At her side, Malfoy stiffened.

"I would hope that by that time you will have adjusted to the idea. You are both mature, responsible, and resilient young adults. I have faith in you."

The Gryffindor girl nodded, her manners and respect for the old man kicking back in. "Thank you, professor."

Malfoy remained quiet, but out of the corner of her eye Hermione saw him give the headmaster a tight nod.

Dumbledore stood and dusted off his robes. "I'll see the both of you at tonight's festivities." He made his way over to the door, pausing before he exited the compartment. "Ms. Granger, Mr. Malfoy," he addressed them, the familiar twinkle having returned to his eye. "I think it would be in your best interest to sacrifice your pride and spend some time together. See how it goes. The other might not be as vile as you think."

And with that, he left.

In his wake, the compartment was almost unnaturally quiet. The only noise came from the faint chattering of students in the next cabin. Malfoy slumped back against the seat, throwing his long legs out in front of him. Hermione sat smartly beside him, perched on the edge of her cushion. She stewed silently, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. Both seemed reluctant to break the hush that had settled between them.

"This is ridiculous!" Hermione exclaimed finally, speaking more to the universe than her unwelcome companion. "How am I supposed to _marry_ someone I can't even stand the sight of?"

"At least we agree on one thing." Since his brief outburst, Malfoy seemed to be handling this news remarkably well. He crossed his legs at the ankle calmly.

She whirled on him, eyes narrowed. "Did you know about this?"

"Don't be absurd," the boy snapped. "I've simply come to terms with the idea of arranged marriage long ago. It was really only a matter of time before it happened to me." He paused, watching his companion's face soften. "I could only hope that it would be with a better candidate," the pale youth added, a scowl darkening his fair features.

The Head Girl's lip curled into a sneer. "Thank you," she said coldly.

"What are you talking about, Granger?"

"I almost felt a small shred of sympathy for you there."

"I don't want your pity, Granger," he protested, his irritation obvious.

"I'm not offering," she shot back. "And I won't be offering anything else either, let's get that straight right from the start." She sniffed, crossing her legs primly.

That small action seemed to set him off. He sat up suddenly and leaned over his female counterpart, his lips forming a nasty snarl. "This isn't the start of anything, Granger!" he hissed threateningly. "And I will never want anything from you, you… you…"

Her heart-shaped face hardened as she glared up at him. "Go on, say it."

His stormy eyes narrowed, boring into hers with equal hostility. "Shut up." His voice was low and dark, dangerous, pent-up fury simmering just beneath the surface. Hermione clamped down on the shiver that ran through her at the sound of it. She would not relent to him. He could be as hateful and foreboding as he wished, he would not intimidate her. This was a matter of principle. She had to show him once and for all that his childish taunts couldn't hurt her.

Though she couldn't help but wonder at his sudden reluctance…

"Say it!" she insisted.

When he finally obliged, lashing out at her persistence, it seemed to surprise him more than it did her.

"Don't tell me what to do, Mudblood," he snapped.

There. He had said it, reverted back to his spiteful ways just like she knew he would. He was just as vicious and mean-spirited as always. She'd thought maybe, just _maybe_, he would have moved past his silly prejudices, now that You-Know-Who was gone and his father was locked away in Azkaban. Under the heady surge of triumph at having out-willed him, she recognized a slight pang of disappointment at the realization that she was wrong.

Though she couldn't help but notice the look that flickered across his face in the moment after he spoke. It was almost… pained? Before she had time to analyze the expression, it was gone as quickly as it had arrived and the frown was embedded into his fair brow again. His mouth set into a grim line as he glowered at her from beneath his pale lashes.

As his stony, defensive glare slammed back into place, Hermione decided that there was more to Draco Malfoy than met the eye. Maybe he wasn't as completely and utterly heartless as he seemed. Hermione's curiosity was officially piqued.

This realization did not, however, affect her feelings on their pending engagement.

"Listen, Malfoy," she hissed, digging her finger into his shoulder as hard as she could. "I hate you. I _hate _you," she repeated, feeling her statement needed the extra emphasis. "I would never agree to marry you of my own free will, never! And clearly, you feel the same way. Now, I am going to attempt to accept our current situation, and move on with my life. I suggest you do the same."

The brunette witch snatched her new robes from her trunk and stormed from the compartment, fuming.

Malfoy was still there when she returned, sitting stiff and detached by the window in his nice, neat new Slytherin robes. As she hovered in the corridor, peering in at him, she couldn't help but notice that he looked somewhat striking in the wan sunlight filling the compartment, his pale skin and nearly colorless hair standing in sharp contrast to his pitch black robes. Shaking her head, she quickly dismissed the thought.

Malfoy stiffened further as the compartment reacted to her magical signature and the door unlatched with a soft click, alerting him to her presence. He remained impassive for a few moments while she tucked her street clothes neatly away in her trunk. Then, without turning to face her, he said, "Look Granger, it seems as if we're stuck in this… _engagement_." He spat the word. "But don't expect our betrothal to change anything between us."

"Fine," Hermione said coldly, retrieving her Arithmancy text from beneath the seat. "I'd expect nothing less from you."

She sat primly on the bench across from him, as close to the door and far away from her… _fiance_ as she could get. The blond set his jaw and said nothing, seeming just as determined to ignore her as she was him.

The next few minutes passed in tense silence. Hermione stared resolutely at her book, thinking up every word she could to describe her fellow Head. _Depraved. Contemptible. Loathsome. Abominable, foul, dreadful, despicable, repugnant (ooh, she rather liked that one), abhorrent, odious... stupid._ Stupid, mean, pointless little ferret.

A soft rustling came from his side of the compartment, startling her out of her thoughts. Hermione looked up at him as he deftly unwrapped a chocolate frog and quickly tucked it into the confines of his mouth. He washed it down with a swig of pumpkin juice. She narrowed her eyes at the Slytherin boy, realizing the lunch trolley must have come while she was gone.

"I hate you," she said softly, her voice carrying easily across the small space.

He smirked. "Well, you can certainly forget about sharing, Granger."

She huffed, slamming her book shut. His smirk widened. He produced another handful of chocolate frogs from his robe, as well as two treacle tarts, a small box of squeaking sugar mice, and an extra pumpkin juice. She looked on helplessly as he consumed it all with great gusto, delicately gorging himself on the sumptuous sweets. When he had finished, he reached into his robes once more and carefully withdrew a single lovingly-wrapped Fizzing Whizbee. Her favorite. He made a big show of weighing it in his palm as he took another sip from the second pumpkin juice. It looked delightfully cold—as he raised the bottle to his lips one perfect drop of condensation rolled down the side, revealing the sweet orange liquid behind the frosted glass. He propped the bottle between his knees and recapped it easily before turning to the saccharine delight in his hand. The blond boy unwrapped the Whizbee slowly, carefully revealing the pretty pink sherbet ball that lay just beyond the vivid packaging. His expression turned positively evil as her stomach grumbled in protest.

His storm-cloud eyes locked onto hers and refused to let go as he popped the sweet into his mouth. He kept his gaze steady as the candy took effect and he began to levitate, floating a few inches above his seat. Seeming to delight in the bubbly treat, he smiled slightly (well, as close to a smile as Malfoy could get – that is to say, he smirked) and leaned into the magic's embrace, crossing his arms behind his head and reclining in midair. Still his eyes held hers.

Hermione was livid. Something in his expression told her that he was completely aware that Fizzing Whizbees were her favorite, though she wasn't quite sure how he knew this. As long as he was using it against her she didn't quite care. She just sat, fuming, glaring daggers into his eyes. Her anger seemed only to amuse him further.

After what seemed like an eternity of eye contact, the train ground to a stop. Hermione, glad for the distraction, leapt from her seat. Nearly dislocating her shoulder, she jerked her trunk from the luggage rack as forcefully as she could.

Unfortunately, her exit was not as grand as she'd hoped it would be. As she turned to leave, her foot caught on the edge of the carpet and she fell, landing on Malfoy quite hard and sending them both crashing down onto the bench. Hermione stiffened for a moment then, as her equilibrium returned, got to her feet quickly, managing to elbow him in the stomach twice in the process.

"Goodbye," she said slowly and precisely, trying to ignore the raging fire in her cheeks. He glared at her and groaned a response, pressing a hand to his injured gut.

And with that, she fled from the compartment.

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**A/N: This chapter is way closer to the original version than the others are/will be (which is part of the reason I'm not as proud of this one), aside from the fact that my original chapter one was almost 5,000 words. I decided it would be better split in halfsies. Never fear, though. I'm posting the new chapter two (formerly known as the second half of chapter one) as we speak.**

**Also working on the old chapter two/new chapter three. Hoping to get it up within the week.**

**Any ideas for a new title? I'm drawing a blank.**


	2. Chapter Two: Confessions

**A/N: Here we go again…**

**Not JKR.**

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More delectable foods than Hermione had ever seen were laid out in front of her, but she couldn't eat, despite having missed lunch. Every time she lifted something to her mouth, she would see Malfoy's sneering face in her mind and her stomach would lurch.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked, looking rather concerned behind his round frames.

"Oo ook inda ick, Eriney," Ron mumbled through a mouthful of pumpkin pasty.

"Ugh. Please swallow _before _you speak, Ron," the Head Girl snapped.

He gulped, looking peeved. "No need to get all catty." His eyes shifted to Harry. "What's her problem?"

Before Harry could answer, the brunette girl slammed her utensils down on the table in frustration. "Don't talk about me as if I weren't here!" she exclaimed. "How would Harry know what my problem is? Ask me, Ron. _Me_. I decide what my problem is. Not Harry, or anyone else for that matter!"

Ron gulped again. "Fine."

She clenched her fists under the table and tried to relax, taking deep, calming breaths through her nose. Having calmed herself sufficiently, she ignored the stunned faces of her friends and stared at the blackberry tart looking enticingly up at her from her plate.

"I'm sorry, Ronald. That was uncalled for." She attempted a smile, lifting her eyes to his. "I'm just a little on edge; Head duties and all."

He smiled back, nicking another éclair from the platter in front of them. "No worries, 'Mione. Try not to stress yourself out _too_ much, yeah? It's only the first day back." She was surprised at his generosity, though she supposed it was easy for him to be forgiving when there was a table full of desserts laid out before him.

_Speaking of desserts…_ She turned back to her tart, feeling somewhat back to normal.

"Sometimes I think you're far too conscientious for your own good, Herms," Harry chimed in, sending her a knowing look over a massive slice of chocolate cake.

Hermione laughed, popping a ripe, juicy blackberry into her mouth. The tartness of the fruit exploded across her taste buds. "Conscientious? That's an awfully big word, Mr. Potter," she teased.

"Yeah, well, you're not the only one with N.E.W.T.s to worry about, you know."

The female third of the Gryffindor trio positively beamed with pride at that. It was about time her studying habits had started to wear off on the boys.

"Don't even talk about N.E.W.T.s," Ron groaned, covering his eyes with his forearm. _Well, at least one of them._

Harry shrugged. "We all have to take them eventually."

The redhead crossed his arms petulantly. "It's the first day back," he whined. "Do we have to talk about schoolwork already?"

His two friends rolled their eyes at that and went back to their meals. The youngest Weasley brother seemed to recover quickly and returned to gorging himself upon sweets as if they might disappear at any moment. Which, Hermione surmised, they might. With that thought, she tucked into her pastry with abandon, taking a large bite of the flaky, creamy, sweet-tart concoction. She sighed happily, watching the boys' expressions of disbelief as they listened to Seamus recount an outrageous tale from his summer holiday. Being with them now, feeling the strangely calming effect her two best friends had on her usually frazzled nerves, it was easy to remember why she loved them so much. This was how it always went; she never realized how much she missed them until she had them back.

A few minutes later, content to tune out the boys' debate and let her mind wander to nothing at all, the Head Girl felt completely at ease. She couldn't even recall why she'd been so on-edge before. She smiled to herself as she bit into the creampuff she had just lifted from Ron's hand as he gesticulated wildly.

The ginger boy paused momentarily, his mouth hanging open. She giggled at his shocked expression. "That's not funny," he protested, shooting Seamus a look when the Irish boy laughed, though a disbelieving smile threatened to tug at the corners of his own mouth.

"Yes it is," Harry said, his eyes shining with mirth.

Ron tried to suppress a grin as he leaned over and closed his mouth over Hermione's fingers, taking back what was left of the dessert. "Gross…" she whined, though she was cracking up. She wiped her spitty hand on her napkin, still giggling. "I've probably got cooties now," she muttered, prompting Ron to stick his tongue out at her before returning to his conversation with Seamus.

A small snippet of conversation drifted down to her from the other end of the table. It was Parvati Patil's voice, probably recounting a juicy piece of gossip to Lavender. "Have you seen Draco?" she chatted conspiratorially. "I couldn't believe…"

The Indian girl was drowned out as Ron and Harry burst into gales of laughter (obviously at Seamus' expense as the Irish boy blushed furiously). It didn't matter. The damage had already been done. Hermione sat, staring down at her plate, stunned into silence. Of course. Malfoy. How could she have forgotten? She felt almost guilty that she had let herself relax and banter with her friends as if nothing at all were wrong. For a moment it had felt like everything was perfectly normal.

"'Mione?" Ron implored, peering intently at her. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, curls bouncing furiously as tears pricked the inside of her eyelids. "I'm fine." Her voice came out as a whisper.

"You sure?" Harry chimed in from across the table.

"Yeah, I just…" Ron laid his hand on her shoulder and suddenly it was too much. "I was just thinking about how behind I am already," she lied quickly, grabbing her jumper from the seat beside her. "I, um… I'm going to the library. I'll see you later." Her voice cracked a little near the end. She hoped they wouldn't notice, avoiding their eyes like the plague.

Ron just chuckled and shook his head, while Harry raised an eyebrow at her flimsy excuse. She gave him a weak smile and fled from the hall.

Once out in the corridor, she felt a little lost. For the first time ever, she felt absolutely no desire to pay a visit to her beloved library, nor did she want to retreat to the Head common room, for fear of running into… _him_. She sat down on the grand staircase, clutching her brand new uniform jumper to her chest, and blinked back tears.

The boy who lived came bursting through the doors not a minute later, his eyes seeking her out against the gray backdrop.

"Hermione?" Harry ventured over to her tentatively. "What's wrong?" He sat next to her carefully and she noticed for the first time that his hair was much too long. He had grown some over the summer, about three inches if she had to guess, and he still wore his wire rims. He was thinner too; pale and tired-looking, if not somewhat gaunt.

The Head Girl sniffled, which made her mad. She rubbed her eyes with her sleeve. "Why am I crying over Draco Malfoy?"

Harry's head snapped up. "Malfoy?" he demanded, his sallow face turning stern as she saw his hand inch toward his concealed wand. "What did he do to you?"

The tears were flowing freely now. "Nothing, Harry," Hermione insisted. "I'm fine." His protectiveness was endearing, but completely unnecessary.

"Did the he hurt you?" Harry persisted, getting to his feet determinedly

Hermione tugged on his room, horrified that he would storm into the Great Hall and hex Malfoy six ways from Sunday. Not that she cared for his safety or anything, but she'd rather keep their current… predicament as quiet as possible. "Harry, sit down," she said, her voice thick. "He hasn't done anything."

Harry looked down at her with a distrusting furrow to his brow. "Hermione…" he began, the furrow deepening.

"I promise, Harry. Just sit," she begged.

He studied her for a moment longer before sitting carefully on the step below hers. He conjured a handkerchief for her and waited patiently while she dried her eyes. "Alright," Harry sighed after a long moment. "Why are you suddenly so keen on protecting Malfoy?"

She felt herself staring helplessly into his green eyes. "He didn't hurt me," she breathed, feeling a quivering mess. "He's… he's my _fiancé_."

Harry's eyebrows flew into his mop-top hair, his lips parting in surprise.

She couldn't help but smile wryly at his expression. "I know. I can hardly believe it myself."

He inhaled deeply, seeming to have forgotten to breathe for a moment. He seemed to be handling her unexpected announcement rather calmly, at least for the moment. "Okay, explain."

She told him all about the prophecy and the Ministry's involvement.

"Voldemort is dead," Harry said in understanding. "But his followers aren't."

She nodded solemnly. "The Death Eater resistance is too great a threat to the Ministry for them to take this lightly. I don't… I don't have a choice."

"I'm sorry." His hand came down on her shoulder and she covered it with her own. "I wish there was something I could do. I could try talking to Shacklebolt, but I don't think…"

Hermione shrugged. "It wouldn't matter. But thank you for the sentiment." She gave his hand a squeeze.

"Harry!" Ginny's head poked out from the door, accompanied by the sounds of music and the student's laughter and conversation. "Oh. Hey, Hermione."

"Hi, Ginny," the Head girl said, forcing a smile for the younger girl.

"Harry, you've got to come see Neville. Ron's messed up this spell…" The ginger girl grinned wildly.

Harry laughed and his eyes lit up. He gave Hermione's shoulder a small squeeze and dropped his hand. "It'll be okay, 'Mione," he said softly before he stood to return to the festivities. "Try and get some rest, alright? Things will look better in the morning."

She watched him disappear into the Great Hall. She was alone. Completely and utterly alone.

The Head Girl let her head drop into her hands, burying her face in her jumper. Pressing her face into the soft material, she took a deep breath and screamed until she felt lightheaded. When she was done, she sat upright again, folded the sweater neatly, and closed her eyes before laying her flushed face against the cool stone pillar.

She must have been very tired and very distressed indeed to not notice the steady sound of footfalls headed her way.

"Granger?"

She didn't have to open her eyes to know who it was. "Go away."

Malfoy chuckled. "Now, that's no way to treat your future husband."

"What in Merlin's name are you so cheerful about?"

"Well, I just came from a certain Miss Greengrass' room, if that's what you mean."

Hermione opened her eyes to see him straightening his silver-and-green tie. His platinum hair was somewhat disheveled (for him, at least). She squeezed them shut again. "You disgust me."

"Glad to hear it."

Her palm itched to slap him again. It had gotten a taste back in third year and now it thirsted for more.

"Just go away, Malfoy."

"Gladly."

She opened her eyes again when she didn't hear him move. "You're still here."

"I admire your skills of observation, Granger," he drawled, smirking.

She pursed her lips at him. "Let me rephrase. _Why_ are you still here?"

"I thought that we should take Dumbledore's advice." Hermione just stared at him blankly, her frazzled brain unwilling to recall the details of the Headmaster's correspondence. The youngest Malfoy cleared his throat and continued, "You know… spend some quality time together before we vow to spend our entire lives in each other's company?"

Her brown eyes narrowed into near-slits as she looked at him. "Why the sudden interest?" she asked suspiciously. "What do you get out of it?"

"Nothing but the pleasure of your company." His tone was absolutely dripping with sarcasm.

She felt a sneer worthy of her fellow Head twist her mouth. "Go slap a hippogriff, Malfoy."

"Listen, Granger," he said, anger creeping into his voice. "I am simply trying to be personable to you, my fiancé. It would be nice to have some input on your behalf."

She couldn't take anymore of his lies and nonsense. Her head hurt, she was homesick, and all she really wanted to do was curl up and cry. She stood so they were at eye level, cocked her head to the side, and smiled sweetly at him. "If you want someone to kiss your ass, you know where to find Pansy." Then she turned on her heel and started up the stairs.

The slime caught up with her on the first landing.

"You know Granger, that smart mouth of yours is going to cause you a lot of trouble one day."

She didn't look at him. "Sod off, Malfoy," she snapped, then internally scolded herself for cursing. It was all Malfoy's fault. He was a bad influence on her.

His hand wrapped around her wrist in a death grip. "I won't be spoken to in that manner."

She tried to shake him off to no avail. "Oh, yeah?" she chided, eyes blazing in anger. "Well what are you going to do about it?"

His full-moon eyes pierced her from beneath his darkened brow. "I'm trying to make this work," he snarled, his voice full of hate. "Must you be so difficult?"

"_Why_?" she hissed. "Why don't you just leave me alone?"

Her question seemed to rattle him a bit. He blinked. She saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed roughly. "Personally, I would like to be on good terms before we're married," he admitted, in what was possibly the only display of honesty she'd ever seen from him. "_Better_ terms, at least."

She found herself hard-pressed to tear her gaze away from his. "You're hurting me," she whispered. Immediately, he let go and she continued to ascend the stairs, ignoring the goose bumps that had appeared all over her body.

"Lunch tomorrow, Granger?" he called after her.

She forced her voice not to shake. "I'd rather not."

"See you at twelve then."

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**A/N: Title suggestions? Really. Help me out here, I'm grasping at straws.**


	3. Chapter Three: The Count

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews/follows/faves! I'm really not quite as proud of this chapter, it's basically setting a lot of groundwork for where their relationship is (hopefully) going to go. I rewrote it twice and then decided to combine the two versions – the first was too fluffy and the second too hostile. Hopefully I've found a decent balance here. (Though it definitely leans toward fluff in a few places. I'm a terrible person, I know.) I've made up for the sub-par writing by making the chapter extra-long – two and a half pages longer than the last two.**

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The first day of classes started out uneventfully, besides a few second-year Hufflepuffs that turned themselves irrevocably purple in Potions. Hermione and Madame Pomfrey had spent the better part of an hour (causing Hermione to miss out on her Advanced Divination class – she was absolutely _crushed_) trying every spell, potion, and magical remedy they could think of as well as a few they'd had to look up in the library. They'd only succeeded in fading the boys' violet-hued skin to a soft lilac. The younger students didn't seem to mind _too_ terribly – they were just excited to have skived off early from Snape's class.

After that initial patience-trying ordeal, most of the Head Girl's morning was spent directing first years to the appropriate classrooms and comforting a homesick Ravenclaw who reminded her eerily of herself at that age. And, though she hated to do it, she'd already deducted twenty points from her own house, leaving their total in the negatives. It seemed there was a pair of identical first years – armed with a variety of explosive contraband and a seemingly endless supply of Skiving Snackboxes – absolutely hell-bent on becoming the next Weasley twins. It was going to be a long year.

The library offered a welcome refuge during her free period. At her favorite table, far in the back left corner, surrounded by huge, dusty tomes, breathing in the familiar sent of ink and parchment, she felt herself relax for the first time all day. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Merlin, but she had missed this place.

She took out the self-inking eagle feather quill Harry had given her for her birthday and a roll of parchment. Sighing happily, she cracked open the first volume of _A Wizard's Guide to_ _Semi-Sentient Plants. _A quick flick of her wand and the quill moved along the paper of its own accord, taking down her thoughts on the subject.

She'd gotten maybe three-quarters of a page of notes and two chapters of reading done when the overwhelming feeling that she was being watched washed over her. She looked up from her work, glancing around the stacks quickly. She seemed to be the only one there. Unable to shake the strange sensation that had overcome her, she twisted around in her seat and peered between the shelves intently. Nothing. No one. She was completely and utterly alone.

Rubbing her arms to keep the goose bumps at bay, she turned back to her book. She frowned and tried to focus her thoughts on the Grabulus Petunius. They were a fascinating subject, really. Absolutely miraculous little plants. Gradually, she relaxed once more as she found herself completely absorbed in learning about the defense mechanisms of their seedpods.

"Granger," someone breathed into her ear.

She shrieked, jumping at least a foot in the air as she was startled out of her reverie. Within the blink of an eye her wand was drawn and at the ready. She whirled to face her attacker.

Seeing who it was, she cursed and clutched at her chest, breathing heavily as the initial adrenaline from her fight-or-flight reflex wore off.

Draco chuckled to himself. He was surprised that her wild mane of hair wasn't standing on end like a cat's. "Hello to you too, precious," he said, lowering the silencing charm he'd had the good sense to place on the immediate vicinity.

She glared at him. "What are you doing here?"

"We have a lunch date," he reminded her, hopping up onto her table and nearly upending her precariously high stack of reading material.

She turned back to her notes dismissively. "_You_ have a lunch date, Malfoy. _I_ have work to do."

The Slytherin boy narrowed his eyes stealthily, like a panther stalking its prey. He took a glance at her books, scanning the titles quickly. "Herbology, hmm?" he commented, almost off-handedly. "How far ahead are you?"

"What makes you think—"

"Seriously, Granger?" He gave her a knowing look. "How far?"

She sniffed. "I fail to see how that is any—"

"How. Far. Ahead?" he insisted, cutting her off again.

"Three weeks," she admitted, looking sheepishly down at her lap. "It's an easy subject."

Shaking his head, Malfoy jumped down gracefully and began gathering her things. "All right," he said forcefully. "We're going to lunch."

She got to her feet too, trying her best to impede him as he flicked her text shut easily. "I was just in the middle—" she protested, wondering how he'd shoved his body between her and the tabletop. He ignored her steadily, deftly re-rolling her parchment.

"You'll smudge the ink!" she exclaimed, reaching around him to snatch at her notes. He swatted her hands away.

"Relax, sweetheart," he commanded, his stern tone of voice contrasting sharply with the term of endearment. "I used a drying charm. What do you think I am, some kind of idiot?"

She beat her small fists against his back. Thanks to him her notes were probably ruined. What a rotten liar. He didn't perform a charm – his wand was nowhere to be found. He hadn't even spoken. _Unless…_ She blinked at the back of his head, dumbfounded. "Wandless _and_ non-verbal?" she stated dumbly, staring into his white-blond locks.

Draco turned to look at the precocious witch, her bag slung over his shoulder. "Yes," he replied simply. He waited patiently as she tried to grasp this concept. He could practically see the wheels turning in that brilliant mind of hers. It was a long moment before she spoke again, a moment in which her gaze was fixed straight ahead, at a spot near the base of his neck, blank and unseeing.

"How?" she asked finally, her brown eyes rising to meet his.

Draco shrugged. "Practice."

He saw the curiosity, wonder, and fierce determination he had come to associate with her over the years creep back into her expression. That and her intensely voracious, never-say-daft drive for knowledge. "Will you teach me?" she asked eagerly, seeming to forget who she was speaking to.

Draco's eyebrows shot up. "You want to learn from _me_?"

She nodded, her eyes wide and shining with excitement as she looked up at him. He found himself captivated by her childlike gaze. "Well you're the only student here who knows, aren't you?" she queried, letting her hands — which had previously been pounding at his shoulder blades — rest against his chest absentmindedly.

Starting a little, he realized how close they had gotten. He couldn't say he was surprised, she had nearly molded herself to his back as she struggled to save her precious homework, so it would stand to reason that they would be standing at a similar distance after he turned around. He had never been this close to her before. For the first time he noticed the faint dusting of freckles across her cheeks and the flowery fragrance she wore. Violets and something else. Anise, maybe? To his great surprise, he didn't find it completely repulsive.

"I don't know," he replied honestly.

She smiled slightly. "I'm sure you are. Do you realize how advanced this is? I can't believe you've mastered it already." Her gaze took on a dreamy quality. "Do you know how far ahead I'll be once you've taught me?"

He felt himself snap out of his trance slightly, raising an eyebrow at her. "Who's to say I'll agree to teach you?"

She blinked and stepped back, the spell broken. "Malfoy…" she said imploringly, stamping her foot in a shameless display of petulance. "You can't keep knowledge like that to yourself. It's not fair."

The blond boy smirked. "Did the great Hermione Granger just _whine _at me?"

"No," she denied, crossing her arms and sending a childish scowl in the direction of his shoes.

"Are you _pouting_?" he mocked, lowering his head until they were at eye-level.

"You're the one who said we should spend time together," she pointed out.

Hermione hadn't thought his eyebrow could rise any further, but somehow it did. "Using my offer of friendship to blackmail me into teaching you? How very Slytherin of you, lovely."

She sighed heavily, lifting her exasperated gaze to the heavens before looking him squarely in the eye. "Will you teach me or not?"

He paused, returning her steady gaze before – much to her surprise – he nodded curtly. "I will. But only if you go to lunch with me."

_Of course. _She reached to take her bag from him, excuses already falling from her lips. "I really need to finish this reading, Malfoy, it's very—"

"No lunch, no lessons," he stated simply, keeping a death grip on her knapsack. She huffed her annoyance at being interrupted again, giving him a haughty look.

"You have to eat sometime, Granger," he reasoned, his voice a tad more forgiving.

After a long moment of glaring into his placid grey eyes, she nodded her acquiescence. Her cheeks turned rosy as he gave her a pleased smirk. She lowered her eyes to examine her shoes.

"Shall we?" he suggested, producing a picnic basket that had somehow gone unnoticed by her from under the table.

"Where are we going?" she asked, struggling to keep up with his lengthy stride as they left the nearly vacant library.

He waved a hand dismissively. "I know a place."

* * *

Malfoy's 'place' was an abandoned tower in the west wing of the castle. Half the roof and a section of the wall were completely missing, either collapsed or eroded away years ago, though someone had cleared away the wreckage. Whoever it was must have cast some cleaning charms as well, as there was no dust of any kind, only a few leaves scattered across the floorboards and a solitary shimmering spider's web suspended in the open doorway. Making her way over to the gap in the wall, Hermione caught her breath. The view was spectacular. Hogwarts' grounds in their entirety, from the Whomping Willow to the Quidditch pitch were laid out before her, in miniature.

"Wow."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, opening the picnic basket with a flick of his wrist. "Impressed?" he asked, his ever-present arrogance creeping into his tone.

"It's… wow," Hermione breathed. "You can see everything from here."

The blond boy hummed his agreement absently, too busy shaking out his charmed blanket to really focus on what she was saying. He smoothed down the corners of the quilt, which was adorably classic – blue gingham. Hermione was still admiring the view. Lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the sun glinting off the lake, she could just make out the giant squid giving a friendly wave. She frowned slightly at the sight of the already-yellowing leaves on the trees. Where had summer gone? As a chilly wind nipped at her bare legs, she shivered and cursed the coming autumn. She had so little time left.

Pulling a face at Mother Nature, she turned and watched as Malfoy carefully unpacked their lunch. From the depths of the picnic basket (_Charmed?_ she wondered) he produced a thermos, two large mugs, two plates, and what appeared to be some sort of hot sandwiches, which smelled absolutely delightful.

"Mmm," Hermione intoned despite herself, gravitating toward the mouth-watering aromas almost against her will.

Malfoy smirked at her. "And you wanted to study," he commented smugly before uncapping the thermos and adding yet another delicious scent to the small space.

"Is that… tomato soup?" Hermione asked, inching closer to his neat little set-up.

He filled the first cup with the steaming liquid before setting it carefully next to the plate she assumed was meant for her. She noticed that he served with a practiced grace, which was surprising considering he'd probably never _had _to serve in his entire life. "It is," he replied, moving on to the second mug. The precise way in which he held it screamed of etiquette lessons.

"How'd you get it?" she asked, lowering herself onto his blanket. It was like sitting on a dream, like sitting on a goose-down comforter on top of a goose-down pillow on top of a goose-down mattress. _Cushioning charm_, she realized, sinking into its plush embrace. "The kitchens never have tomato soup."

His smirk returned full-force. "The _Great Hall _never has tomato soup," he corrected her. "The kitchens have it all the time."

"Who do you know?" she asked semi-seriously, narrowing her eyes at him.

He neatly placed a napkin-wrapped sandwich on the plate before her. "You forget that the one called Dobby used to work at the Manor." He raised an eyebrow smugly. "Little bugger still calls me Young Master."

That hit a small nerve. "House elves deserve just the same rights as everyone else, Malfoy."

The Slytherin shrugged. "Never said they didn't," he said blandly. "I've never had to force Dobby to do anything for me. He's happy to help." There was a moment's silence in which he finished laying out their meal, tucking the thermos away and drawing out two pristine napkins. "He's also happy to get the Honeyduke's chocolates I bribe him with," he added surreptitiously. Just a hint of humor touched his eyes as he passed her the white cloth.

She raised an eyebrow. "Draco Malfoy, smuggling expensive sweets to house elves in exchange for a few sundry foodstuffs?"

He smirked. "I don't see you complaining." He looked pointedly at the cup of soup she had already raised to her lips. She didn't reply, just took a deep breath and savored the tangy-sweet broth. It was a tad too hot to drink yet and burned her tongue a bit, but it was delicious.

She turned instead to the sandwich he had given her, unwrapping it carefully. It was a Monte Cristo, warm, cheesy goodness sandwiched between what was essentially two pieces of savory French toast. It was decadence incarnate, the ultimate comfort food, and it was just what she needed.

"Does it agree with you?" Malfoy asked, his formal speech confirming her etiquette-lessons theory.

"It's lovely," she replied honestly. He nodded curtly, an almost-imperceptible shift in his demeanor telling her that he was pleased with himself. She ignored him as she began to eat. The first bite proved just as delicious as she'd expected, and she couldn't help but let out a satisfied groan. Malfoy seemed pleased by her reaction and tucked into his own sandwich with relish, leaning back onto a small pile of pillows that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. The picnic basket was definitely charmed, Hermione decided.

The Head Boy's expression was strangely pleasant. "Glad you like it, dearest," he commented, voice sickly sweet.

That new habit of his was starting to grate on her nerves. "Why the pet names, Malfoy?" Hermione asked, sending him a look.

He looked up at her innocently. "They're not bothering you, are they? Think we're moving too fast?"

She gritted her teeth – a habit her parents would have gasped at – and ignored the jab, choosing instead to take another scalding mouthful of soup. They ate in not-so-amicable silence for a few minutes, both painfully aware of who they were with and how completely_ awkward_ this situation was. Hermione refused to look at him as she chewed, instead focusing on the pattern of the picnic blanket. Malfoy's gaze burned through her lowered lids.

Finally she swallowed, sighed and asked quietly, "Is there anything to drink?"

"Ah," Malfoy exclaimed softly. "I almost forgot." He fished two ice-cold pumpkin juices out of his bag, uncapping them both with nimble fingers. He reached into his robe pocket and withdrew something small, keeping the object's identity hidden from Hermione. Passing his hand over both of the bottles, he dropped something into each of them before he handed her one. The orange liquid frothed wildly.

"What did you do to it?" she asked, eying him warily.

"Just try it," he said. "It's fine. See?" He took a swig of his own effervescent drink.

She stared suspiciously at it for a moment longer before deciding her thirst was greater than the possibility that he was poisoning her. She sipped it carefully.

"It's sweet," she observed of the usually subtle flavor. The rising bubbles tickled her nose. There was something familiar about the aftertaste, something she couldn't quite put her finger on. She took another mouthful. "It tastes like… like…"

"Sherbet," Malfoy said softly, and her eyes instantly snapped to his. "The pumpkin juice counteracts the levitation properties of the Whizbee but the overall effect is nice."

She took another sip of the bubbly concoction, liking the way the sugar-sweet sherbet and cool, clean pumpkin tastes played across her palette. "You like it?" he asked, watching her reaction carefully from behind his cup. She nodded wordlessly.

"Can I ask you a question?" she asked, determinedly looking anywhere but at him.

"You just did."

Her eyes sought him out at that, staring him down with a certain amount of irritation and vague surprise. "Really, Malfoy?"

He rolled his eyes as she shot down his juvenile taunt. "Fine," he said simply. "If you want to take all the fun out of it." His gaze found hers in the gray sunshine. "Only if I get to ask you one first."

She acquiesced, her curiosity getting the better of her yet again. Malfoy struck with poise and precision. "Are you dating Weasley?"

She nearly choked on the last of her soup. "Ron?" she let out a soft scoff. "Please. He's like my brother."

Malfoy smirked. "So, incest not your thing?"

She looked at him and he waggled his pale eyebrows at her in a manner that could almost be misconstrued as joking. Then Hermione did something she had hoped never to do in front of Malfoy or anyone else at Hogwarts: she snorted.

Malfoy's eyes widened at the rather loud offense. She clapped her hands tightly over her mouth and nose as soon as the atrocious noise spilled out, smothering the crazed giggles that threatened to escape as well.

"Did you just _snort_?" the blond boy asked bluntly, snickering at her. A depraved sneer twisted his lips into a strange semblance of a smile. If she didn't know any better she'd say he was grinning. "Ladylike, Granger," he said snidely between titters, miming wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

Beneath her fingers, her cheeks flamed. She lowered her arms slowly, sending him a death glare and trying to ignore the heat in her face.

"What a feminine laugh you have, darling." He was still chuckling to himself. "Like a bell." This sent him into fresh peals of laughter, leaning over and clutching his sides helplessly.

"Are you quite done?" she demanded, her countenance now stained with anger rather than embarrassment."

He took a moment to catch his breath (she thought she heart him gasp something along the lines of "like a _pig_!" somewhere in there, but chose to ignore it). She'd been ashamed of her little problem ever since she was a young girl. It usually only happened when she was really surprised, and she was fairly adept at sensing it coming and clamping down on the urge. Of course Malfoy would be the one person at Hogwarts she let slip in front of.

He seemed to have composed himself. He pressed a hand to his chest, the ghost of his grin-like-thing still lingering about his mouth. "Now," he said, clearing his throat. "I believe you have a question for me?"

She took a deep breath. "You know, you were the one who said things wouldn't change between us. And then you were a complete git to me on the train, which is alright, because that's what I'm used to. But… but then you insisted on having this lunch. And I don't… Just—"

"You're rambling, sweetheart," Draco cut her off. He was quiet for a moment, barely registering the faint blush rising to her cheeks while he contemplated his answer. "Let's just say I changed my mind," he said finally, shrugging in what he knew was a hopelessly lame gesture.

She pursed her lips. "That's not an answer, Malfoy."

"Well that wasn't even a question."

Her brown eyes narrowed dangerously as she glared at him. "You're a real prat, you know that?"

"And you're a know-it-all. Call it even."

She huffed in indignation. "Why did I even agree to have lunch with a ferret like you?"

He let his confidence in his advanced abilities twist his mouth into a smirk. "Don't forget, Granger: I have something you want." In a display of his power he performed a wandless, wordless _Scourgify_. Their forgotten flatware was spotless and stacked neatly with a simple raise of his hand.

That shut her up real quick. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared daggers at him, but remained silent, too desperate for a taste of his knowledge to risk losing her chance to gain it. It was almost funny how much control he wielded over her just by having honed a few simple skills.

Funnier still was how much it bothered Draco to see her beaten into submission, clamping down hard on whatever biting insult she was prepared to throw at him. He frowned, realizing that he wasn't entirely fond of seeing Granger acquiescent and semi-tame. He preferred her to be fiery and obstinate and interesting. Sure she was a know-it-all and Gryffindor, but that was part of what made life exciting: dealing with people who didn't bend to your every will. In Draco's life, those people were few and far between – and Granger was, by far, the best of them. She was pig-headed and stubborn and she never agreed with anything he said, and she had the prim-and-proper schoolgirl act down to an art. Just thinking about her with her nose turned up haughtily, cardigan jumper buttoned up to her chin, hair wild and arms laden with heavy books got him all riled up. The mere sound of her triumphant "Hmph," when she gave a correct answer in class sent him into a tizzy. When Draco thought of Hermione Granger, he thought of a challenge. Battles to be fought. Strongholds to be conquered.

Hermione, hell-bent on not speaking another word if that word would in any way impede her learning, started in surprise when a neatly wrapped Fizzing Whizbee landed in her lap. She looked up again to find Malfoy staring steadily at her, his seeker's reflexes having allowed him to toss the sherbet ball in her direction faster than she could register the movement. She blinked.

Feeling her furrowed brow relax, she took the sweet into her hand and held it tight. She understood that, in his own weird, arrogant way, he was attempting to apologize. Either for what happened on the train or for all of his endless taunts or simply for being the person that she would never want but would always have. Maybe a little of all three. He would never say it out loud, and she wouldn't listen even if he did, but he was sorry.

Draco Malfoy had a conscience after all, even if he chose not to let it show.

"Truce?"

"Truce."

Later, she would be hard pressed to recall who had said it first. Later still she would decide it didn't matter. The point was that one of them had waved the white… well, candy wrapper, as it were. They were officially on even ground. They still didn't like each other, still dreaded the day they would soon marry — hell, they still just _barely _tolerated each other's company. But at the end of the day they were stuck with one another.

"Might as well make the best of it," Hermione sighed, popping the Whizbee into her mouth. She gave her unwilling, unsolicited fiancé a wry smile as she began to float above the floor. She steadily ignored the fact that he didn't smile back.

**

* * *

**

**A/N: Monte Cristos ARE the ultimate comfort food. Hope I didn't sound like I was drooling over one as I wrote this. I wasn't actually, I swear. Rather, I was waiting for my boyfriend to bring me one from the café where he works. I was severely jetlagged and allergy-laden and he was my angel of lunch. A good sandwich never fails to make me feel better. I figured the same could go for Hermione. :3**

**Reading over this again, I really, really hate this chapter. I feel like they're moving wayyy too fast. Especially Draco. However, in some ways I think it's justified. You'll find out more about his change of heart later.**

**I still may rewrite it. It's pretty bad.**


	4. Chapter Four: Of Routines and Aneurysms

**A/N: I know it's been forever and I'm sorry. I've been trying to finish chapter four for months and it's fought me every step of the way. I finally decided to split it up into two parts; this is the first. Second should be along somewhat shortly. **

**Disclaimer: Still not JKR.**

Hermione was surprised by how quickly she fell into the routine Malfoy seemed so hell-bent to establish. Every day, he would interrupt her during her free period – which, much to her chagrin, turned out to be his free period as well. She couldn't help but suspect that such a coincidence was not really a coincidence at all, but probably Dumbledore's doing. She'd thought of asking the old Headmaster after one of their weekly meetings, but had refrained.

Malfoy would usually surprise her with some small treat: a new flavour of Sugar Quills; sweet, crunchy apples he'd plucked from one of the trees outside Hagrid's hut; decadent hand-crafted truffles his mother had sent from Versailles. The first few times he'd offered such delights she'd pursed her lips at him and given him a stern lecture on the library rules. When he brought in the French chocolates she caved. He smirked triumphantly as she gave a small sigh of pleasure at the first taste of the enchanted delicacy. They held fairy magic, he said. She instantly demanded more information, using the opportunity to gain knowledge to justify to herself such blatant rule-breaking. He happily obliged, and from then on she accepted his gifts with a small smile and a whispered 'thank you.' The forbidden morsels really did come in handy when they studied right through lunch – which wasn't uncommon. It was easy to lose track of time in the amicable bubble of silence which engulfed them in that far corner of the library.

It was easier still to lose track of time in the Heads' common room, where they unfailingly merged at the end of each day. They treated each other with a fair amount of familiarity within the confines of the common room, as it was their shared space where they each desired to feel comfortable and welcomed. However, the pleasant silence, shared notes, stocking feet and mugs of hot chocolate could only go so far towards eliminating the awkwardness which still existed between them. Hermione was often painfully and uncomfortably aware of their cordiality. It felt wrong. It felt… forced, in a way, but she supposed the truce she'd agreed to compelled her to at least _try_. She found if she didn't think for too long on just who she was working with, she could get through the evening quite comfortably. Thus she applied herself to her Head duties quite fervently and tried to push the prospect of marriage completely out of her mind. Malfoy seemed to follow her lead, though he kept up with the pet names, which irked her to no end. Other than that small annoyance and the occasional moments of awkward awareness which ensued, they worked quite well with each other. Whether they were studying, bickering, scheduling rounds, glaring daggers at each other, presiding over Prefect meetings, working on her wandless non-verbal magic (which was going dismally), or planning "Interhouse Unity Events," the unlikely pair almost always ended up trudging back to their separate rooms at well past midnight. Hermione had even dozed off on the common room couch a few times and awoken to an exhausted-looking Malfoy shaking her half-heartedly. Despite her dwindling sleep schedule and the added stress which came with her title, she refused to let her grades be affected and had come to rely heavily on large doses of coffee spiked with small doses of Pepper-Up potion to get her going in the morning.

This morning however, was an exception, as it was a Sunday (almost three weeks after her first meeting with Malfoy) and Hermione had happily embraced the chance to have a bit of a lie-in. She finally rolled out of her warm, plush bed at quarter to ten and shuffled to her wardrobe for a pair of neatly folded jeans and a Molly-made jumper. Wrangling her tousled curls into some semblance of a ponytail, she decided to venture down to the Great Hall and try to rummage up some breakfast. Ducking out into the corridor with her hardcover copy of _Wandless Witchcraft_ tucked under her arm, she gave a small start at finding The Boy Who Lived waiting outside her room with a guilty look on his face.

"Harry," the Head Girl said, surprised. She recovered from her shock quickly and beamed up at her best friend. "What are you doing here? Have you been waiting long?"

"Just a—a few minutes," he stuttered. He quickly broke eye contact with her, looking down and fiddling with the fraying hem of his pullover. "I was hoping I could walk you down to breakfast."

"Sure," she replied hesitantly. She cast a glance over her shoulder at the young witch, Guinevere, whose portrait guarded the entrance to the Head Girl's quarters. The oil-paint girl shrugged.

They were halfway down the hall by the time he finally looked at her. His hair was still damp from his morning shower and he peeked at her from beneath the dark strands. "I told Ron," he blurted suddenly, his voice cracking.

Hermione's heart clenched. Nothing that had Harry acting this nervously could be good. "Told Ron what?"

"About Malfoy."

She froze. "What?"

"I'm sorry," Harry mumbled, looking at his feet again. "It was an accident, really. He was in a foul mood, and he said something about you being distant and whatnot and I said that you've just had a lot on your mind, and he said _oh yeah, like what?_ And I just, I don't know, I said it. And I'm—I'm really sorry, Hermione."

Hermione took a deep breath. It wasn't the end of the world, right? Ron was her best friend, he deserved to know the truth of what was keeping her away. "It's okay," she said finally, giving a slight nod. "It was an accident, right? What did he say?"

Harry was very still for a moment. "See, that's where everything really began to go downhill…"

She steeled herself, preparing for the worst. Clenching her fists, she studied Harry's slouched posture expectantly.

"He sort of had a small aneurysm about it," he said quietly, lifting a hand to rub at his infamous scar. "He started shouting and I tried to shut him up but he was having some sort of fit or something, Hermione…"

Her throat tightened. "Everyone knows, don't they?"

"Kind of, yeah," he admitted, finally meeting her gaze. "Once Lavender and Parvati found out, it was only a matter of time."

She drew a shuddering breath, surprised by the sudden, seemingly irrepressible urge to cry. She was not sure when or how she and Malfoy had decided to keep their situation a secret, or why they thought they could get away with it, but that had seemed like the most natural plan of action. A plan which had failed. The idea that her engagement was now common knowledge somehow made it all too real. There was no denying their forced connection now, no throwing themselves into their Head duties in order to carefully skirt around the issue, no pretending their still somewhat surreal attempts at genuine conversation were all for the sake of interhouse unity. Harry's clear, green eyes, full of concern, were quickly washed away by the flash-flood of tears which came upon her.

No. She would not cry over Draco Malfoy. Never again. Blinking, she cleared away the offending saline.

"Okay," she managed, voice cracking. "Okay. It's alright. They would have found out eventually anyway, right?" She tried to smile. Harry didn't look very convinced.

"I'm really sorry," The Boy Who Lived said again, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. "If it helps, I made sure only Ginny and Ron found out about the whole prophecy thing. I wasn't sure if you wanted the others to know, or if that would just make everything worse than it already is, or… I'm… I'm just so, so, so sorry, 'Mione," he finished, flustered.

"It's okay," the Gryffindor witch repeated, and wondered who she was trying to convince, Harry or herself.

Ginny was… strangely excited.

"Oh my God, Hermione," she said when two-thirds of the Golden Trio sat across from her at the Gryffindor table. "You're getting married."

Closing her eyes, Hermione sighed and clutched at Harry's hand, expecting a fuming rant soaked in a healthy dose of that fiery Weasley anger. Instead the redhead asked, "Have you found a dress yet?"

Hermione's eyes snapped open. "What?"

"I'll take that as a no." Ginny shot the older girl a grin, smooth red lips over flashing white teeth. "Mum and I'll take you shopping then, over the holiday. We'll need to pick the flowers and a cake, as well. And music and a location, amongst other things. I trust Malfoy's paying for it all, being as filthy rich as he is. When's the wedding?"

Hermione just stared at her female friend, for the first time noticing that the hall was strangely quiet. It seemed no one wanted to speak above a quiet murmur, and the eerie calm of it all made goose bumps erupt across her spine even as she gaped wordlessly at the youngest Weasley. Hermione could feel dozens of pairs of eyes on her, dissecting her every move and peeling the fragile skin back from the secrets which lay beneath.

"Close your mouth, Hermione," Harry murmured. "You're going to catch flies."

Ginny laughed, pulling out a parchment and quill, seemingly oblivious to the stares of their classmates. "Have you even set a date?" she asked, her eyes on the Head Girl.

"January the third," Hermione said, finally coming out of her stupor.

The ginger-haired girl's hands fluttered about like nervous birds, and across the hall Hermione caught sight of Malfoy smirking at her. "That's only three months away," Ginny exclaimed. "There's still so much left to do!" Harry and Hermione said nothing, only watched as she chattered on and scribbled down notes about calla lilies and string quartets. The younger students, quickly losing interest, had already begun to return to their breakfasts and normal speaking voices. Most of the Ravenclaws, as well, were turning back to their textbooks, newspapers, debates and black coffee. More than a few Hufflepuff girls were exchanging heated whispers behind cupped hands, their eyes darting back and forth between the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables, the latter of which was dead silent. It seemed as if a good majority of Hermione's housemates were ignoring the issue, holding too much regard for the brilliant witch to disrespect her privacy. Malfoy was watching the trio with brow furrowed, and his fiancé just shrugged at him, rolling her eyes. He looked away. "What do you think of cerulean?" Ginny asked excitedly. "Or maybe cornflower? Wouldn't Draco look great in cornflower?"

Hermione looked at her. "Um."

Ginny took this for consent, and the rest of breakfast was spent discussing the finer points of Malfoy's colouring. Hermione, for the most part, attempted to tune the younger witch out. She would not be deterred, however, and by half-past ten, she'd nailed down at least half of the wedding plans. "Oh, Hermione," she giggled, packing up her things. "I'm just so excited."

"Oh, really?" the Head Girl muttered to herself as Harry ushered the object of his affections out of the hall. "I'd never have guessed." Hermione stood after draining the last of her morning pumpkin juice and swung around to leave, bumping solidly into someone.

"What was that all about?" Malfoy asked from somewhere above her. His hand cupped her elbow, pushing her back on her feet.

She glared up at him. "What are you talking about, Malfoy?"

"The Weaselette," he said plainly, cocking an eyebrow.

"Oh," Hermione muttered, face flushed. "Nothing. She just—thought you'd look lovely in blue."

It was quiet again – the handful of students still lingering about were watching the unlikely couple with bated breath. A few of them jumped when Malfoy laughed outright, his voice breaking the hush which had settled over the hall. "I'm surprised you didn't fight for crimson and gold."

She couldn't help but smile at that. "Yes, well, now that you've given me the idea…" she joked, surprising even herself as the late-morning noise level in the hall returned to near-normal.

Malfoy groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "Why couldn't I have just kept my big mouth shut?"

"Relax, _Drakie_," she drawled in her best impersonation of him. "Crimson would clash with your colourless skin."

His head shot up. "Colourless!" he cried in mock outrage. "I'll have you know that alabaster qualifies as a colour."

"Alabaster?" She couldn't help herself; she laughed at that. Even as he took her book from her and settled his hand comfortably at the small of her back. "More like pasty white."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed as he guided her from the Great Hall. "Pasty white, my arse," he grumbled.

"I'm sure it is," she replied curtly, prompting his eyebrows to go flying towards his hairline. His surprise was cut short, however, by a group of fifth-year Ravenclaws whose furious gossiping came to an abrupt halt as the Heads approached. The girls sent Hermione jealous looks, eyeing his hand at her back. The prettiest of them sneered, making her disdain for the older girl clear. Hermione, blushing furiously, tripped over her own feet. Malfoy, thankfully, was there to catch her, his hands gently gripping her waist as he steadied her. He couldn't however, cover the fifth years' scoffing laughter and instead just murmured to her, "Alright there, sweetness?" as she swayed back into his chest.

She gave in and leant against him for a heartbeat or so, letting the weight of the barely-begun day and the humiliation of the moment wash over her. He gave her a soft squeeze and instead of being surprised by the intimacy of the gesture, as she should have been, she was merely grateful. "I'm okay," she whispered, exhaling deeply. She opened her eyes to find the fifth years glaring at her more intensely than ever before, their mocking titters long since forgotten.

"So," Malfoy said, sending a scowl in the girls' direction as they began walking again. "Cat's out of the bag, huh?"

Hermione just nodded. She kept her mouth shut for fear of crying or screaming or both.


	5. Chapter Five: A Lot Of Letters

**A/N: Hey guys. Time for another update. **

**Thank you for all the reviews/favorites/alerts. Of course, I love compliments, but I'd appreciate some genuine critiques as well! It's how I improve and learn. **

**There's not a lot of action in this chapter. There are, however, a lot of letters (hence the title). Some set-up and clean-up needed to be done. Hopefully the next update will be more exciting. I plan on having it out sometime within the next two weeks, muses permitting. Enjoy.**

"I heard Weasley threw a hissy fit," Malfoy said in a tentative attempt at conversation. The slight edge to his voice hinted that he was thinking the same thing as she: _Who wouldn't?_

Hermione ignored the wet warmth near the corners of her eyes. "Yeah," she managed. He didn't say anything further as they headed towards the HCR, just kept his hand steady against her spine. When they arrived at the appropriate portrait – a very attractive young wizarding couple who spoke only Italian and fought constantly – he spoke the password quickly and succinctly, cutting through the pair's foreign, heated jabs. The woman – Francesca, Hermione had gathered – gave Draco a charming smile and murmured something to him in her native tongue. Whatever it was sounded soft and intimate, counterpointing the curt nod and politely-muttered phrase she received in return. Her lover, Guiseppe, turned and stormed off just as the Head students ducked into their sanctuary, and Hermione thought she caught a triumphant laugh from Francesca as the portrait swung shut behind them.

"What did she say to you?" the young Gryffindor asked, manoeuvring out of her boots.

Malfoy rolled his eyes as he shrugged out of his thick cashmere jumper. The rest of the castle might have been getting draughtier by the day, but the merry little everlasting fire dancing in the hearth kept the HCR comfortably warm. "That she missed me."

Hermione raised her eyebrow at him, though the effort was somewhat wasted as he was focused on unlacing his own shoes. "She _missed_ you?"

He glanced up as he slipped out of his dragon-leather brogues and gave her a small, almost boyish smirk. "She called me bello."

"Beautiful boy?" Hermione snorted. "As if you need the ego boost."

Malfoy gave her a slightly surprised look. "I thought you didn't speak Italian, Granger."

"I don't, fluently," she said, taking her book from him. "But I do understand roots, as well as the difference between feminine and masculine nouns. If 'bella' means beautiful in a feminine sense, then it must stand to reason that 'bello' is the masculine version."

Malfoy padded over to the table beside the fireplace and plopped down in one of the flanking wingbacks. "You are right, Granger, though that comes as no surprise. However, whilst the technical definition of 'bello' may be 'beautiful boy,' colloquially it is used to mean 'handsome.'"

He pursed his lips at her in a prissily effeminate manner, which made him look far less handsome and far more like a beautiful (admittedly prissy) boy. She ignored him, choosing to turn her attention to the sideboard which magically collected and sorted their mail. The table's twin stood outside in the corridor, directly on the other side of the north wall. Both were splendid specimens of magical design and carpentry, constructed out of some decadently dark piece of wood, polished until they shined. They each had three drawers with little brass pulls and four legs which were adorned with ornate provincial carvings. Professors, Prefects, and other students could retrieve writing implements from the drawers of the corridor table – quills in the first, ink in the second, and parchment in the third – scribble a note and simply leave it. A few moments later it would appear within the HCR, placed neatly in whichever drawer it belonged. The one on the far left collected mail meant for Hermione, whilst the one on the right was Malfoy's. The drawer in the middle contained notes which were addressed to the both of them or had no specified recipient.

Hermione collected the parchment from all three drawers, tucking the shared stack beneath her arm. She carried Malfoy's mail over to him at the tea table and took the chair across from his, as was their usual routine.

Malfoy, hunched over a scrap of paper, barely glanced up at her or his mail. "Is oolong alright?" he queried distractedly, scribbling down their morning tea order.

Hermione hummed in assent, already flipping through the notes on her lap. "With jasmine."

"And honey," he agreed.

"Mmm."

He gave her a small smile as he folded the parchment and let it fall onto the shining silver tea tray, where it promptly disappeared. She pushed his mail towards him pointedly. On the very top of the pile was a flaming red Howler, and it appeared to have been waiting for a while. The envelope was already beginning to shake.

"Yes, I see that, love." The Slytherin leant back in his chair contentedly. "I am simply choosing to ignore it."

She huffed at him and turned back to her own messages. There were a few notes from Prefect girls – Hannah, Susan, and a Sixth-Year named Amelie who'd just transferred from Beauxbatons – proclaiming how happy they were for her and wishing her all the best with her coming nuptials. One, scrawled on sweet-smelling, light purple stationary, admonished her for keeping her engagement a secret, called her a 'lucky little minx,' and was signed with love from Lavender and Parvati. Ginny had left a copy of the notes she'd made that morning, prompting Harry to scratch out yet another apology. At the very bottom of the pile was a note written in Ron's messy scrawl which simply said: _We need to talk_.

Hermione sighed at that one.

"What is it?" Malfoy asked. "The Wonder Twins?"

"Ron," she said simply, before gathering up the discarded mail and throwing it all into the fire. Her companion looked as if he were trying not to laugh as she returned to her seat across from him.

"Anything else interesting?" he asked, making a steeple out of his fingers on the tabletop.

"Just a few wedding well-wishers," she said snarkily, letting her eyes fall shut. "Apparently I must be 'overjoyed,' to have found 'a great guy like Draco.' I mean, 'he's so handsome and charming!'"

The pale youth shrugged pseudo-modestly. "What can I say, I'm a catch."

"'And rich, too!'" Hermione replied with a small smirk. Malfoy laughed outright at that, the low, joyful sound gliding over her frayed nerves in a way which was strangely soothing. He had a nice laugh, when he chose to utilise it. It was deep, rumbling, and contagious. If only he'd show it off more often…

Hermione's thoughts were interrupted as their tea appeared with a soft pop.

"What's all this?" she asked. The tray was nearly overflowing with food. In addition to the regular tea service the table was stacked high with thick pieces of toast; small dishes of marmalade, jam, and butter; a tiered platter full of breakfast pastries – buttery croissants, succulent fruit tarts, golden beignets rolled in cinnamon and sugar, homemade crumpets, warm scones; plates of poached eggs, perfectly-browned sausages and crispy bacon; bowls full of steaming oatmeal and plump, dark berries.

"Elvish generosity," Malfoy replied, reaching for the ornate little teapot the kitchens reserved for the Head students. "Eat."

"If I didn't know any better, Malfoy," the Head girl quipped, "I'd think you were trying to fatten me up."

"You didn't have anything at breakfast," he said simply, placing her steaming teacup in front of her.

"Yes I did," she countered instantly. She thought back to what she'd been doing whilst Ginny chattered incessantly about colour schemes, trying to remember what exactly she'd eaten. It wasn't like her to skip meals, at least not at the weekends and _never_ breakfast. It's the most important meal of the day, after all.

Malfoy scoffed. "Pumpkin juice hardly counts, Granger."

"I must have…"

"You didn't. Now eat something; it won't do me any good to have a dead fiancé, now will it, darling?"

Hermione ignored the strange feeling in her stomach at the good-natured grin he gave her as he dipped the tip of his pinky directly into the honey pot.

"That's extremely unhygienic," she muttered as he withdrew his finger from the dish, dripping with the golden nectar. Draco shrugged and closed his mouth around the appendage. Ignoring Hermione's huff as she snatched the dish away, he turned to his mail, humming happily as he sucked his little finger clean.

He set the trembling Howler aside for the time being. His mail-stack was blessedly small today, with the majority of the messages being Granger-centric. Pansy had written several paragraphs which were almost an exact transcript of the scolding she'd given him when he'd run into her on the way to breakfast. She'd got over her schoolgirl crush on him ages ago, but she was still his best female friend and demanded that she be kept up to date on the goings-on of his life. Needless to say she was not very happy at having been kept out of the loop.

Draco's favourite missive was a scrap of parchment which read: _She's a minx, isn't she? The bookish ones always are._

Hesnickered, ignored the questioning look Granger sent him, and flipped the note over to find a small postscript. _You don't have to explain; I don't really give a shit. –BZ _Setting the letter aside, Draco couldn't help but let a smirk curve his mouth. Zabini was a suave bastard; got that from his mum. And though his twisted sense of humour was all his own, he'd also inherited a few of his mother's other more Slytherin traits as well, namely his unsettling ability to read people, compartmentalise his emotions, and know whose acquaintance he should favour. If there was one thing Zabini was good at, it was picking his battles.

The next piece of mail was from the littlest Weasley, a good ten inches of wedding notes. He placed that particular parchment on top of the waiting Howler and hoped the whole thing would go up in flames if he waited long enough. Next was a threatening note from The Boy Wonder, which Draco crumpled and sent sailing through the air and into the hearth with a wandless Wingardium Leviosa.

The last note was from his godfather, surprisingly enough.

_Draco,_

_I can only imagine the varied reactions you must be receiving to your little secret. Be forewarned, it shall only get worse. Since early this morning, the school has been fending off owls from one Miss Rita Skeeter. The ministry shall do all they can to stop any ridiculous rumours, but you should prepare for an uproar from the community. The wizarding world can be a very harsh and judgemental place, and I fear you and Miss Granger shall be bearing the brunt of their anger for the time being. _

_My door is always open._

_Severus_

_P.S: The Howler is from your mother, I'm afraid. It came attached to another particularly nasty one meant for me this morning._

Sighing, Malfoy handed the letter over to Hermione wordlessly. She scanned it quickly, let out a sigh to rival the Slytherin's, and resumed the careful buttering of her crumpet.

Hermione tried to tamp down the feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. After all, she'd been pleasantly surprised by the majority of her mail and the lack of death threats therein. It seemed the younger generations were quite open to change after living through such a terrible war. Maybe his mother would… Hermione didn't quite know how to finish that sentence. Maybe Narcissa would… _End it quickly? Simply disown him? _Hermione shrugged off the thought and filled her mouth with warm, buttery crumpet.

"You'd better open it," she said simply.

He did so, still silent, and watched stoically as the letter twisted itself into that terrible familiar shape. There was a moment's pause before his mother's seething voice filled the room.

"Married?" the folds of parchment hissed. The near-whisper volume of Narcissa Malfoy's voice startled Hermione. Somehow the quietness of it made the message seem all the more threatening. "You're getting _married_? To a young woman whom I've never even _met_? And I had to hear of it from MARGUERITE _BLOODY_ PARKINSON?" The envelope took a deep breath and seemed a tad more calm the next time it spoke. "I contacted the Headmaster this morning and he informed me of the situation. It is unfortunate, but I agree that this the most viable option in light of the Ministry's involvement. However—" Narcissa's voice turned deadly once more. "He also mentioned that you've known of this arrangement for nearly a _month_. A MONTH, Draco? I _sincerely_ hope dear old Albus has finally gone mad because if this is true I might as well start preparing for an extended stay in Azkaban right now because when you get home I plan on _hexing you_ into _oblivion_. As it is I've only _three months_ to plan a proper society wedding and I'll _not _have anything less for or _from_ you, young man. I expect an owl or Floo by the end of the day, Draco, and I insist on meeting your Hermione _as soon as possible_. Do not try to weasel your way out of this or I'll not be held responsible for what happens to you. Remember, Draco: I gave you life, and I can take it away. Just. As. Easily." The envelope paused for a moment before adding calmly, "See you soon, darling."

With that the Howler shredded itself and settled onto the table in a neat pile of confetti. Hermione chanced a glance at her fiancé as she polished off her crumpet. He was as disaffected as ever, going so far as to almost appear bored. He finally looked up when she had to reach over his arm to retrieve a bowl of oatmeal.

"Sugar?" he said, offering her the intricate silver saucer full of brown sugar. She helped herself to a few spoonfuls as she studied his expression, the way his eyes never strayed from her movements, even as he wordlessly incinerated the mess left behind by his mother's letter.

"So," she began, stirring and then blowing on her oatmeal to cool it. "Your mother wants to meet me."

"She wants to judge you," he replied simply, just as she closed her mouth over a still too-hot spoonful. Hermione started, startled by his statement and the sudden scalding of the roof of her mouth. She swallowed hard, wincing at the burning sensation travelling down her throat.

"Excuse me?"

Malfoy spared her a passing glance as he made himself a plate of bacon, poached eggs, and several pieces of toast. She knew he'd had at least two muffins and a banana at breakfast, but Hermione had learnt quickly that her fiancé was very much a normal teenage boy—at least when it came to food. "Make sure you're an acceptable Malfoy wife," he explained. "It's her duty as the reigning lady of the manor. I suppose she can't refuse you outright in this instance, but she'll want to… polish you up a bit."

He tucked into his food delicately while Hermione stared into her oatmeal, unsure of how to react to this statement. Usually such a snobbish declaration would tempt her leonine temper to make an appearance, but the benign expression on his face made her think he was really quite oblivious to any untoward implications.

"Polish me?" she asked finally.

Malfoy nodded solemnly and, with nimble fingers, plucked the charming little jar of marmalade from its place beside her teacup. "Make sure you're presentable. For society."

"Society?" Hermione repeated, deciding she'd just have to wait for her oatmeal to cool as she tried to quash the small ping of irritation which reverberated through her chest.

"Pureblooded society," he explained. "You'll need to know what Pureblooded children are taught from day one. Table manners, conversation, dancing, social graces. The usual."

Hermione took a sip of her tea and nodded in understanding, her annoyance at his imperious tone adding a slight edge to her voice. "Etiquette."

"Yes. Do the Muggles study it?"

"Some do," she replied, the floral aroma and sticky-sweet aftertaste of the tea going a long way towards soothing her small aggravation. "Though many believe it to be archaic or simply don't care. I took some lessons when I was younger."

Malfoy looked pleased by this. "Good, then you're already half way there. There are surely some things which differ in Wizarding society, regarding magic usage in public and whatnot, but I'm sure you'll pick that up in no time. Mother will be pleased."

Hermione felt a small twinge of pride at the approving twinkle which adorned the corner of his eye as he looked at her over the rim of his teacup, all displeasure forgotten. It was a strange feeling and she tamped it down quickly, reminding herself that he was the absolute _last_ person she required the approval of.

She shifted her attention to the small stack of envelopes and parchment that was their shared mail. The pale-green stationary on top was a note from Professor Sprout requesting the assistance of two Prefects to aid in safety demonstrations during a procedural lecture for the first years, who were just about to start the more "hands-on" Herbology curriculum. Hermione handed the missive to Draco and made a note to cross-reference the Prefects' schedules with the lecture times to see who would be available.

Risking a teensy taste of her oatmeal, she found it still to be too hot. "Damn," she whispered, pressing her scalded tongue to the roof of her mouth.

"Honestly, Granger, you are such a Muggle sometimes," Malfoy said, not ungoodnaturedly, before casting a cooling charm over her bowl with a flick of his wrist. "What's Dumbledore got to say?"

Her eyes landed on the rich purple envelope marred by a single line of text scrawled in golden ink: _For the happy couple. _Very impish. Very flamboyant. Very Dumbledore. She eyed it warily. Malfoy teased the envelope open and guided the letter into her hand, smirking into his eggs as he continued to consume them with an air of ease and nonchalance, the only indication of the power he wielded in the slight twitch of his index finger as he raised his fork to his mouth. Hermione glared at his display before gripping the letter and raising it to her eyes.

"Dear Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy," she read aloud. "You are, of course, aware of the current state of affairs. In these trying times I advise you to stay calm and above all, be cautious. While I can assure your safety from external threats within the walls of Hogwarts, there is no guarantee against domestic peril. I would prefer to believe that you have nothing to fear from the student population, but it is always better to be safe than sorry. If you feel you are in any danger whatsoever, do not hesitate to alert me immediately.

"As far as the public opinion goes, it is obvious that rumours will begin flying every which way very soon. Perhaps it will be best to have instigated these rumours yourself. What I mean to say is that it may be best to go to the press before the press comes to you. Make them believe that you have nothing to hide. This may go a long way towards improving your public standing at the moment, though it could also prove stressful and worrisome. Ultimately, it is your decision and I will leave it as such."

Malfoy gave a snort at this. Hermione met his eyes for a moment before continuing.

"Please take my advice and suggestions into consideration and remember that I am always available to you, day or night.

"Sincerely, Albus

"P.S: I had a nice chat with the ever-lovely Narcissa Malfoy this morning and am sure you have already heard from her as well. This leaves to question when and how the news will be broken to Miss Granger's parents, as it seems rather irrelevant to keep the news of your impending nuptials from them at this point. I will leave this up to your discretion."

Draco remained silent while Granger refolded the Headmaster's letter and carefully placed it back in its envelope. That last note about her parents seemed to have struck a nerve. He thought he saw a slight tremble to her fingers as she set the envelope aside. The breath she sucked in was deep and shuddering.

Oh, god. She was going to cry.

He snatched the last letter – a crisp white envelope with an official-looking red wax seal – from the table and opened it hastily, keeping his eyes glued to the page and away from her trembling lower lip. Scanning it quickly, he skipped the intro (_Mr. and Mrs. Draco Malfoy [pending]:_ ) and began reading in a voice that was probably a bit too forceful.

"It has come to our attention," he said. "That news of your engagement has reached the press. We must encourage/insist upon your complete and utter discretion in this delicate situation. We believe the best option in order to prevent panic amongst the wizarding community is to leave the circumstances of your betrothal undisclosed until further notice. We cannot stress this enough. It is highly important that you present a united front to the public and we are positive that you will not have any difficulties accomplishing this. Your cooperation is appreciated."

The letter finished with a sweeping, flamboyant series of flourishes which Draco assumed were meant to be a signature of some sort. Beneath the display was printed:

_**Percival Primrose**_

_**Department of **__**Press and Public Relations**_

_Dict__ated but not read_

When he looked back at Granger she had schooled her features into a semblance of composure. She nodded primly, seemingly avoiding his eyes. He could live with that.

After a few long moments of silent contemplation and implication, the pair resumed their breakfasts carefully. Vocabulary words bounced around Hermione's head, taunting her with their twisted usage and hidden meanings. _Discretion. Cooperation._ It all really meant one thing: suck it up. Play nicely. Act the part. Keep quiet.

She supposed the Ministry thought a united front meant something more than the working relationship they'd established, a relationship which had quickly become commonplace to the students of Hogwarts. They'd have to go from being a team to being a… what? Partners? A couple?

A couple._ For the happy couple._

That was a sobering thought. It resounded with a strange sort of finality near the base of her skull. That was what the Ministry wanted from them. What they were _encouraging_. She was reminded of the Muggle Victorian era and the saying "Lie back and think of the Empire." She was a slave to circumstance and patriotic duty. They both were.

She looked up at Malfoy, pouring his second cup of tea with practiced grace. What would he expect from her? What could she expect from him? Was it best to continue the trend they'd begun this morning in the Great Hall, the chaste companionability their audience had observed? It seemed to come naturally to them, but would their friendly banter and comfortable demeanours be enough to ease the inevitable distrust? Would they be expected to… to touch? Affectionately? To behave as though they were in love? Honestly, she wasn't sure if their tentative relationship would hold up under the weight of such a charade.

As if hearing the incessant buzz of worrying thoughts in her brain, the pale youth looked up at her suddenly. His raincloud gaze held hers for a long moment before he spoke. "Stop," he said forcefully. He dropped his eyes back to his plate with an air of dismissal. "I swear one of these days your head is going to explode."

She managed a breathy laugh and he shook his head. "I'm not kidding, woman. That brain of yours is far too big for your own good."

The smile she gave him was small, gracious, and sincere. "All the better to best you with, Malfoy."


	6. Chapter Six: Discretion

**Sorry, sorry! I know, I'm the worst.**

**Disclaimer: not mine.**

Hermione fingered the edges of the letter in her pocket and for the first time, truly _hated_ Albus Dumbledore.

_I will leave this up to your discretion, _he'd said. As if _anything_ that had happened this year had been up to her discretion. Her discretion went out the window a long time ago, along with Draco's.

That thought stopped Hermione dead in her tracks. This was a new development. When had she started thinking of him as Draco? Had she called him by it as well? She couldn't remember. What if she had? Had he noticed?

Shaking her head free of errant thoughts, she continued her venture towards the HCR. She'd been to see the Headmaster that very morning and he'd eagerly agreed to the visit she and – Malfoy. Draco? Her fiancé… The Head Boy. _Him. _They'd decided to pay her parents a visit to explain the situation in person, and Dumbledore had no objections. She was on her way to owl them now.

Slipping her hand into her coat pocket, she gripped the letter tightly.

_Mum and Dad,_ it said. _Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to return home for a visit this weekend. I'll be bringing a guest. His name is Draco Malfoy and he is my fellow Head student. I hope this is okay. Please let me know what time is convenient for you. Tilly will await your reply. She knows where to go. _

There was a small space there, evidence of the way she'd hesitated before continuing the missive.

_I know this seems strange. I promise, I'll explain everything this weekend. Love, Hermione_

She'd written and rewritten it at least a dozen times during dinner and still wasn't happy with the result. She'd finally decided it was hopeless and it was best to send it anyway. Watching the Head owl become a speck on the horizon, Hermione ran a hand through her hair and let herself fall face-first onto the chaise.

"I think you're doing that wrong, love."

She groaned.

"Only you could somehow build upon the almost frivolous femininity of a fainting couch."

Giving him a rude hand gesture, she grumbled, "Not now, Draco."

Realizing what she'd said, she lifted her head quickly to look at him. He was leant over the tea table, nonchalantly putting in the order for their usual evening cocoas. That sort of answered her question, she supposed. His lack of surprise or interest meant she'd either been calling him by his first name for a while now without noticing it, or it simply wasn't as big of a deal as she thought it was.

She let her head fall back to the couch as he padded across the room to perch on the edge of the ottoman. "Alright, what is it?" he prompted, prodding the place between her shoulder blades with no small amount of force. When she didn't answer beyond a small grunt he glanced around the room. "Where's Tilly?"

Her voice was muffled and terse when she replied: "My parents'."

So that was what was bothering her. He was worried she might still be in a foul mood after the tiff they'd had while leaving the library about how to handle the whole 'united front' issue. She'd conjured up a Muffliato as they walked toward the Great Hall, keeping their conversation from the prying ears that were ever-present in any given Hogwarts corridor. Within the confines of her spell they'd snapped and nipped at each other's arguments heatedly. He'd decided it would be best to come up with a story to offer as to how they got together, something full of forbidden romance and other silly, sappy things which would hopefully convince people that they were in love. His fiancé's refusal to lie outright to her friends and acquaintances was a problem.

"Well then, what's your big idea?" he'd fumed, finally stopping his swift strides and pulling her into a small alcove to continue their argument in semi-privacy. An impassioned row in the middle of the corridor wouldn't do them any good at this point.

The young witch had given him an exasperated shrug. "We'll tell them it just sort of… happened. Which is true!"

"Oh yeah," he'd shot back, rolling his eyes at her. "That's what they'll want to hear. Very believable."

"At least it's not a lie!"

A frustrated groan had clawed at the back of his throat. "People want to hear details! They want explanations, reasoning! What does it matter if it's a lie, you daft bint? You really think all of those stupid Gryffindor pals of yours will take 'it just sort of happened' as an explanation for how _we_ of all people ended up bloody well engaged?"

"It's none of their business, you insufferable prat!" she'd hissed at him, a deep scowl darkening her features. "They know me and they know that I am a very private and sensible person. They'll assume I had my reasons and leave it at that. And my friends are not stupid!"

With that she'd stormed off, leaving him to curse her steadfast morals under his breath until he felt he'd calmed down enough to go have lunch with his housemates. She seemed to have forgotten the whole episode now, far too distressed about the meeting they were set to have with her family.

It was understandable. _Your discretion_, Dumbledore had said. Their discretion as to how to explain to a young witch's clueless Muggle parents that as the result of a war they could never hope to understand – that their daughter was dragged into before she'd even hit puberty – they were soon to acquire a new son-in-law. Oh, yes, and that son-in-law would just so happen to be the boy who caused their daughter immeasurable torment all throughout her formative years. You know, the one who used to call her a Mudblood.

"How long ago did you send it?" he asked, referring to the letter their shared messenger bird carried.

"Just a few minutes ago."

"Where do they live?"

"Somerset," she replied thickly, and then suddenly she was crying. Even without seeing her face or hearing her sobs, he could tell by the way her shoulders tensed and her breath shuddered out of her so slowly as to almost be painful.

"Oh, sodding hell, woman. Don't _cry_." At this, she seemed to sob harder, and now he could actually hear some of the pathetic mewling noises she was muffling against the couch cushions. "Granger. Stop. Don't… Please don't." She let out a long, keening cry designed to crack even the hardest of exteriors.

"Merlin."

Nudging her shaking body over to make room for him on the chaise, he sat beside her and placed his open palm awkwardly against her back. "Hermione," he whispered, and tried moving his hand in small circles over her crisp white shirt. She sucked in a long breath which was followed by a series of hiccoughing sobs. He was rubbish at this. He wasn't any good at comfort. At least not the emotional kind. Physical comfort, he could do, but this… He didn't know how to touch a girl's feelings. He couldn't make their sense of stability tremble, or bring their self-esteem to a shuddering climax. Draco Malfoy was completely clueless when it came to emotional females.

For a moment he entertained the notion of using his other methods on her. It wouldn't be hard, and she'd certainly stop crying then. In his mind's eye he pictured himself pulling her shirt from its neat tuck, gathering the material in his hand and revealing the soft, creamy expanse of skin at her back. He still remembered it from the Yule Ball, that skin. He remembered it well.

He saw himself tracing patterns on her back, kissing a path down her spine and settling himself between those legs of hers. Her infuriating school-issue skirt riding up around her bum. Her sharp intake of breath as his fingers stole beneath the hem to caress the velvet skin of her inner thigh, moving upwards to stroke slowly over her most sacred, secret place…

Hermione gave a low wail which snapped him out of the sexual fog which had suddenly and without warning enveloped him. He ripped his eyes away from the swell of her hips, the curve of her bum, the sway of her back. What in Merlin's name was wrong with him? His fiancé was bawling her eyes out, clearly upset, and here he was mentally molesting her. He was a bloody pervert, and he had to force himself not to rip his hands from her body completely, instead continuing the soothing strokes across her shoulders, determined not to let his thoughts stray again.

Hermione's breaths were coming quickly now, piling up on top of each other and leaving no room for her pathetic moans. She tried to swallow back the tightness in her throat, focusing on taking deep, even breaths so she didn't end up hyperventilating. The soft movement of hands against her back went a long way toward anchoring her whirlwind emotions. Slowly, she pushed herself up onto her elbows, wiping her heated face.

"Granger?" Draco asked tentatively, still rubbing her shoulders in small circles.

She took a deep breath. "I'm alright," she said in a rickety voice. "I don't know what came over me." He produced a pristine handkerchief from the pocket of his robes and pushed it into her trembling hands. She took it with a shaky smile. "Thank you."

"As long as you've stopped crying," he muttered before giving her a final pat on the back and moving away, heading over to the tea table where their cocoa had just arrived. Hermione sniffled a bit when he handed her the warm mug. He eyed her warily from his place on the ottoman, as if afraid that she would start up again at any moment. She took a sip of chocolate and sighed, already feeling the sleepy after-effects of a good cry.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked finally, taking the mug from her outstretched hand and placing it on an end table.

She manoeuvred her way onto her back and then laughed at the image they presented with her change in position. Draco simply quirked an eyebrow at her over the rim of his cup.

"I feel like I'm at the shrink's," she explained.

He paused. "Muggle mind healers, right?"

She nodded, smiling. There was a weird twitch of pride somewhere in her chest.

"They'll want me to give it up," she told him, pressing the backs of her knuckles against her closed eyelids.

"That's easy," he replied, a playful half-smile touching his mouth. "Say no."

"They won't understand."

"Doesn't matter," he said flatly. "I understand. Hey, look at me." He lifted her hands away from her eyes, leaning over her to gaze into her still-flushed face. "We're a team now, Granger, whether we like it or not. We can't blame each other and we can't work against each other. Got it?"

"They're my parents, Draco. My _Muggle_ parents. How do I… how do I explain how important this is?"

He sat back, releasing her, and gave an elegant shrug. "Well they know about You-Know-Who, right? Just—"

"Not the war, Draco. My magic. How do I explain what it—what it _feels_ like?"

"You don't," he said simply. "You can't." He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "You could, I guess, say that it's like an organ, or a limb. But I'm not sure if that would be sufficient. Your magic is a part of you, just as mine is a part of me. They can't ask you to give that up."

A part of her was stunned, struck speechless at the prospect of him regarding her as his magical equal. He hadn't said so directly, but his meaning was clear. Her chin wobbled with confusion and conflict.

Draco scowled at the teary trembling. He stood from his seat, towering over the emotional girl with arms crossed sternly over his crisp robes. "Princess, you listen to me," he said, leaving no room for argument. "Your magic is tied to my magic now, okay? And I'm not going to let anyone take our magic away. If I have to marry you without their blessing I will. Hell, I'll Imperio a blessing out of them if that's what it takes."

Hermione sniffed, giving a reluctant smile at his commanding tone of voice. "Draco. Don't say things like that."

He brandished a single, pale finger at her. "I'll not lose my magic, Granger."

"Al_right_," she acquiesced, slapping his hand away.

He straightened his robes unnecessarily. "Alright. Now quit your blubbering and help me reorganize these time sheets, would you? I left it to Brown last time and she made a right mess of it all."

"Did you explain to her that there is a _system_ to these sorts of things?"

"I did. Of course it would help if anyone but you was capable of understanding your bloody infuriating system."

Hermione let out a low growl, ignoring the Slytherin's self-satisfied smirk as she snatched the files from his hands.

* * *

Head bent, book balanced precariously at the edge of her desk, Hermione sat studiously looking over her Charms notes, waiting patiently for the lesson to begin.

"I heard you and the Ferret had a little lover's spat yesterday," a voice said, startling the Head Girl out of her reading. She glanced up to see a familiar head of garishly orange hair. "Have you finally come to your senses?"

She closed her textbook gingerly, bracing herself for an attack. "Hello to you too, Ron."

He ignored her greeting. "Tell me this is all some kind of sick joke."

"I wish it was."

A blotchy flush began creeping up Ron's neck, hinting at the anger that he'd kept bottled up for the past few days. "This isn't fucking fair!" he hissed. "Say you won't do it, 'Mione."

"I can't Ron," she replied calmly, glancing around at the near-empty classroom. The few other students who'd arrived seemed oblivious to their conversation. "They'll take my magic. They'll make me leave, do you get that?"

Running his hands over his quickly reddening face, he took a hold of his hair and gripped tightly. "They wouldn't dare! You're Hermione Granger. Harry will protect you. They can't do this."

She tried to keep her voice steady, refusing to make a scene. "They _can_. They can and they will. Harry can't save me this time – neither can you."

"I can bloody well _try_, you… you… infuriating, stubborn witch!" He slammed his hand down on the desk, startling a dozing Ravenclaw a few aisles over. "Goddamnit Hermione! How can you just give up?"

"Give up?" She scowled at him, her eyes boring holes into his as her cheeks flooded with heat. "You think I'm _giving up_? By trying to protect myself? By trying to protect Draco? I'm quitting while I'm ahead, Ronald," she hissed, the hushed volume of her voice doing nothing to disguise the venom behind her words. "I'm doing whatever I have to. If you cannot accept that I'll have to ask you to kindly _butt out_."

By this point the classroom had begun to fill up, and they both know they could not continue along this vein without drawing any further attention to themselves. Huffing, Ron crossed his arms over his chest and turned to face the front of the classroom, slumping down in his seat dejectedly. Hermione took a deep breath and tried to ignore him, staring determinedly at the cover of her book until Flitwick arrived to begin the day's lesson.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was frustrated. He was supposed to be gathering research for a Muggle Studies essay on ancient deities and instead his eyes kept straying to the painting of Persephone on the next page. The goddess was depicted in all her naked glory, a masterpiece of warm tones and pale velvety skin. A perfectly ripe pomegranate was poised at her plump lips, her eyelids lowered coyly, chestnut curls draped demurely about her blossoming figure. She was a girl on the cusp of womanhood, and Draco could not help but draw comparisons to his fiancé. The young goddess certainly resembled Granger's likeness in a way, possessing a similar stature and colouring. His mind painted in faded indigo ink stains on the tips of those delicate fingers, added a stubborn pucker to an otherwise feminine brow. He wondered absently if Hermione's breasts would be quite so plump, her nipples such a delectable shade of pink.

Slamming his textbook shut, he shook himself free of such thoughts. This wouldn't do at all. Ever since his mind had conjured up that brief, misguided fantasy two days ago he'd been plagued by such flights of fancy. That very morning at breakfast he'd caught himself imagining what Granger's hair must smell like. The day before she'd worn it up and he'd spent the better part of Advanced Arithmancy admiring the curve of her neck.

Draco ran his hands through his hair, sighing as he scratched softly at his scalp. Granger was not supposed to be a sexual creature. Granger was books and cleverness. She was wild hair and ancient, dusty tomes and regulation-length skirts. He'd never thought of her in this capacity before, and it was highly unsettling now that he had. Merlin, he needed a cold shower. Better yet, he needed to get laid. Of course, that wouldn't exactly be a huge help to he and Granger's whole We're-In-Love campaign. What a cruel bit of irony that was. The whole school's assumption that he was getting it on the regular was the one thing keeping him from getting it on the regular.

Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Draco shifted the heavy tome on his lap and decided that he needed a break, needed to clear his head somehow. Leaning his head back against the seat cushions, he groaned, "Dobby."

The small elf appeared with a loud crack and a, "Good evening Mr. Head Boy Draco Malfoy sir."

"Draco is _fine_, Dobby." The blonde cracked an eye open to observe the odd little creature adjusting the hemline of his thick, hideously purple jumper.

"What can Dobby be getting Mr. Draco?"

Draco let out a long breath. "A stiff drink would be lovely."

The elf gasped in horror. "Mr. Draco," he said breathily. "Dobby cannot be _breaking _the rules set by the Mr. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. If Dobby gave a _student_—"

"It was a joke, Dobby."

The elf stopped abruptly, tugging on one of his large ears, and gave Draco an uncomfortable smile. "I is sorry, Mr. Draco. Dobby is thinking you is being serious."

Draco gave his former servant the most reassuring smile he could muster. "It's alright. I'll be taking dinner here tonight, if that's alright. Whatever you have in the kitchens is fine. And tea."

"Is Mr. Draco needing anything else?"

"No, thank you."

The elf popped away and Draco let his eyes slide shut again, hoping to take a bit of a nap before supper arrived. His hopes were quickly dashed to bits as the portrait creaked open and the cause of his stress slipped through.

"Oh," Hermione said softly, stopping dead in her tracks as she realized she was not alone. Draco sat in his favorite armchair with a closed textbook on his lap, head tipped back, eyes closed, breathing shallow. The thought crossed her mind that perhaps he'd dozed off doing homework, but that was unlikely since it was barely six-thirty. "Draco?"

"I'm awake," he replied simply.

She resumed movement, shrugging out of her robes and jumper and making herself comfortable.

"I thought you'd be at dinner," she admitted, eyeing the mail cabinet with distaste.

He seemed to sink further into his chair. "Tired," he replied. "Had to get some homework done."

"How's it going?"

"Slowly."

She laughed, removing her tie and hanging it neatly on their coat rack.

A few moments of silence passed wherein she moved over to the sitting area, lighting a cheery little fire in the grate with a quick Incendio.

"How was your day?" he asked finally, still looking for all the world as if he were talking in his sleep. Aside from his mouth, he had not moved since she walked in.

The warmth of the fire and intense pleasure of finally getting to remove her uniform shoes hit her all at once and she let out a yawn. "Productive," she replied sensibly. Draco smirked. "I talked to Ron today."

The blonde's expression didn't falter. "Is that so?"

"Well, not really. Ron ambushed me today."

He gave a half-laugh. "I assume it went well."

"It could have been worse."

After this she fell silent, following Draco's lead and closing her eyes for a brief ghost-nap. She might even take a real nap. After all, the couch was so comfortable and her Transfiguration homework could wait...

After a few minutes of silent repose, Draco opened his eyes to look at her and nearly choked. Hermione was draped across the chaise nonchalantly, hair flowing loose and free down her back. She'd rolled her sleeves up past the elbow, removed her shoes and stockings, and her tie had gone missing somewhere along the way. The top few buttons of her oxford had been loosened to reveal just the barest hint of cleavage, and the way her back was arched against the arm of the couch left her shirt clinging to her outline in the most delicious way.

_Merlin._

Her tits were fantastic. How had he never noticed before? He reckoned she had Persephone beat by a long shot in that department, though of course he'd have to see her completely _unfettered_ to make an accurate comparison…

Tearing his eyes away, Draco forced himself to think of something else, anything else. He found a convenient distraction as the dinner he'd ordered suddenly appeared on the table with a pop.

Draco lifted the tray cover, snatched up the first thing he saw – a soft dinner roll – and tore into it viciously. Hermione, meanwhile, lazily opened her eyes to half-mast and gave a slow smile at the sight of food. She bit her lip and Draco swallowed, hard.

Inhaling deeply, she sat up slowly and flicked her eyes over to him. "Do you mind?"

He gave a forceful head shake, mouth clamped shut, and reached for another roll. At her smile of gratitude he gave an internal groan.

Draco ate with single-minded ferocity, spearing meat and vegetables with his fork as he desired, swooping down on each dish as if a plate would simply slow him down. Hermione took her time to enjoy the meal the elves had prepared, the weariness of a long day slowing her movements. Draco's frantic feeding slowed after a time, and he sat back a little, twirling his utensils between his long, dexterous fingers. She wouldn't be surprised if he played piano, or perhaps violin.

Hermione offered a smile in return for his resigned expression. "Long day?" she asked softly, neatly cutting the small golden potatoes into bite-sized pieces.

He grunted, bringing a piece of asparagus to his mouth. "You could say that."

"Do you need any help?" She gestured to the Muggle Studies text lying forgotten on his lap.

The Slytherin gave a shrug, waiting until he'd finished chewing to respond. "I think I'll be alright, princess."

She was slightly affronted by his curt responses, though she tried not to let it show. She must have failed miserably because he gave a small smile and added, "Thank you for the offer though."

She smiled back and shrugged it off, taking a sip of her tea. They finished the meal in silence, with Draco watching her stoically and she giving him the occasional glance. When they were done their dishes popped away only to be replaced by a lovely dessert service, which both students tucked into with glee, the prospect of sugary delights seeming to bring the pair out of their simultaneous funk. Between bites of treacle tart Draco began telling Hermione of his Muggle Studies assignment, explaining why he'd chosen to research Greek mythology rather than Roman, Norse or Egyptian. She listened intently, interjecting every now and again as she saw fit.

"So basically my argument is that Hades was more human than all the other gods."

Hermione sat back from the table, setting her plate aside and swinging her legs onto the couch. She let out a sigh of contentment as she stretched like a cat, back arched, skirt riding up around her thighs, head thrown back and neck elongated gracefully. She let out a soft moan, body falling limp, and all of a sudden he was hard as a rock, staring helplessly at her and her fantastic tits and the lovely curve of her neck. He kept chattering helplessly, becoming less and less coherent as the seconds ticked by.

"He loved Persephone, you know, and—"

"Did he?" Her eyes opened suddenly to meet his and he felt his face grow hot under her gaze. He adjusted the textbook resting over his burgeoning erection, confused, frustrated, and more than a little ashamed.

"I think so."

"Really?" She gave a small, very Slytherin smirk. Oh, he was rubbing off on her in the best of ways. "Do you often kidnap and imprison the ones you love, Malfoy?"

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I think he felt he had no other choice, as Persephone was notorious for turning down suitors."

"He could have tried, couldn't he? I mean, before resulting to illegal abduction?"

"That would be the Gryffindor way to go about it," Draco sneered.

Hermione laughed. "My point is that's not love, Malfoy. It's infatuation. It's immature and irrational."

"He loved her enough to share her, didn't he?"

She looked a little shocked by this statement, giving a small flustered huff before sending a little smile his way. "You may be right about that, Malfoy."

He managed a smirk. "That being said, are you up for a little study session tomorrow? You know, of the wandless, non-verbal variety?"

"Anything to get me defenseless and silent, huh?" she replied, settling back into the couch. At his chuckle her features pulled into a small grimace. "We've got dinner with my parents tomorrow," she reminded him gently.

"Oh bugger," he swore. "I forgot, Granger, I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "We can work on Sunday."

Despite her forced nonchalance, her mouth still turned down a bit and he still felt like an absolute prick for forgetting. "You'll have to dress me," he blurted out, catching her off guard.

Hermione's eyebrows flew up towards her hairline. "Excuse me?"

Draco gave an unapologetic shrug. "I have no idea what to wear to a Muggle dinner." He flipped open his Muggle Studies book to the fashion section. "Galoshes? A rain slicker?"

The Head Girl couldn't help but giggle at that.

"What?" he asked, oblivious. "I look quite good in yellow, you know."

She snickered, pressing her face into a throw pillow. "You're hopeless, Draco."

"Speak up, princess. You weren't raised in a barn. Wait, _were_ you raised in a barn? Should I dress up like one of these Muggle cowboys?"

That was the fatal blow, and she finally dissolved into breathless, shaky, body-wracking laughter as Draco continued to flip through his book and offer outrageous suggestions as to his potential attire.

"I could wear a wetsuit," he said, examining a photo of some Muggle surfers. "Yes, I'd fill that out quite nicely."

Hermione gasped for breath, her sides positively aching.

"Ooh, Granger," her fiancé said suddenly, a devious smile nearly splitting his face in two. "I've found something for you. Why didn't you tell me about these?" He held up the book, displaying a page full of Muggle swimsuit models.

"It's October, Malfoy, I'd freeze to death," she managed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

"That's what a warming charm is for, love. And isn't that what's important? Collaboration. Muggle ingenuity working together with Wizarding innovation." He gave a curt nod. "It's decided. Now we've just got to conjure up one of these delectable little buy-kinneys."

"It's pronounced buh-keenee," she corrected, finally getting a hold of herself.

"Bikini," he repeated, grinning. "I like it. We'll make a fine pair. Me in my wetsuit and you in your bikini. Let's see your parents say no to that, princess."

Hiding her face against the arm of the couch, she fell into giggles again as Draco pulled out his wand and began trying to transfigure her discarded jumper into the skimpiest swimwear he could manage.


End file.
